


Compliments of the Nighthawk

by clgfanfic



Series: War of the Worlds - Mind Games [1]
Category: Midnight Caller, War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack finds himself caught in the middle of a living nightmare - aliens are real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compliments of the Nighthawk

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Remote Control #2 and later in Black Ops #10 and the War of the Worlds novella Mind Games.

_"I do remember, Colonel, but I wish to God I didn't."_

 

**Friday, September 20, 1991: 0730**

          Jack Killian yawned loudly.  Across her desk, Devon King frowned at the radio personality and continued with her phone conversation.  Jack grinned.

          "Look, I think I better get to Jack before he takes a nose dive into his coffee cup…  Right, I will.  And thank you for helping set up the schedule.  This should be a fascinating series."  Hanging up the phone the woman turned her attention back to Killian. "Sometimes, Jack."

          "What?" he asked innocently.

          Devon shook her head.  "That was Marshall Tyler at JFK University."

          "New Age West, isn't that what they call the place?" the man asked, finishing the coffee and sliding the cup onto Devon's desk.

          "Jack, John F. Kennedy University is an internationally renowned school.  It just so happens that they're a little more progressive than most."

          "I'm not sure I'd call studying flying saucers, ghosts, and voodoo progressive," he challenged with a condescending grin.  "I'm sorry."

          "Be that as it may, Mr. Nighthawk, Marshall has arranged for five of his staff to appear as guests on your show.  The week-long exploration of the paranormal is a go."

          "Terrific."

          "Cheer up, Jack, it should be interesting," she consoled.

          Jack stood and stretched.  "I think I'm psychic," he announced.

          "Oh?" Devon asked, her eyebrows and smile both lifting.

          "Yeah.  I can see it's not going to be interesting, it's going to be _weird_."

          "Goodbye, Jack."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, September 23, 1991** **: 0730**

 

          "Advocate, I am nothing without your counsel."

          "This is true, yet you still have not taken over the bodies of those who might tell us how to stop the ones the humans call shaman from interfering in our recovery of a warship for a second time.  These individuals are powerful warriors, and we must have an effective weapon to use against them."

          The commander looked away from the female advocate.  The environmental suit protecting her from Earth's bacteria also left her extraordinarily ugly in the eyes of the human host the soldier had blended with.  Over the past eight months, he had melded with many humans and each time found himself acquiring more of the vile creatures' habits and tastes.  He would be happy to complete his mission and return to his own form before he was completely tainted by contact with the native inhabitants of this planet called Earth.

          "As explained, Advocate, we have located the major institutions involved in the investigation of what the humans call 'paranormal events.'  We have narrowed the list to three primary targets where security is woefully lacking.  However, we do not have sufficient numbers to infiltrate all three institutions.  We seek your counsel as to which institution will be the focus of our efforts."

          "And where are these targets located?" asked the older of the male Advocates.

          "California, New York, and North Carolina."

          "The California institution is the closest to our base," the female mused.

          The youngest Advocate stepped up to join his two comrades.  "Perhaps it would be best to attempt our first blending with the humans they call psychics there.  We can monitor events more closely."

          "Your judgment is wise, Advocate," the commander replied.  "A team can enter the institution tomorrow.  We will determine the best course of action in isolating the most powerful of the psychics, then I and my soldiers will blend with the humans and take their knowledge.  We will find out how the old Indian man was able to destroy our warship and stop any interference in the future."

          "Then go, and do not return until you have the knowledge we require.  Do not fail us, Commander.  We have located another warship, and once it is operating, the humans will not be able to stand against us.  We must not fail."

          "I am nothing without your counsel."

          "To life immortal," the three Advocates chorused, and the commander echoed it.  "To life immortal."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday September 23: 0027**

 

          "This is KJCM and I'm Jack Killian, but you already knew that, didn't you?  Ah, then you might be psychic.  But, to get serious, tonight we're starting a week-long series on the paranormal."  Jack leaned back in his chair and winked at his producer, Billy Po.  "We're going to talk about things that go bump in the night, the weird, the way out, and the wild.  And, if the research that's going on right here in our own backyard, and around the country is any indication, the real.  But _you_ can draw your own conclusions."

          Billy grinned and shook his head.  Where Jack had come up with this idea was anybody's guess, but it sounded like he and the Nighthawk were in for some interesting conversations over the next few nights – the phone lines were already lighting up.  He gave the ex-police officer turned radio personality a thumbs up.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          At Government Property #348, otherwise known to the residents living there as "The Cottage," the leader of the Blackwood Project, Dr. Harrison Blackwood, leaned back in his padded swivel chair and grinned at the radio as he listened to his latest passion, Jack Killian's Nighthawk show.  A man with unusual sleeping habits – slumbering one hour out of every five – Blackwood's schedule usually left him alone and bored from midnight to three.  Lately, the astrophysicist split his time between listening to the show and working, or trying to stay current with a stack of astrophysics journals, the DJ's lively discussions being enough to keep him going.

          Listening to the talk show was also a break from the horrifying reality of what Blackwood and his coworkers did.  As a part of a four person team, he and the others living at the Cottage waged an almost single-handed war against invading aliens bent on destroying humanity.  A week-long look at the paranormal sounded like something the eclectic scientist would have custom-ordered to keep his curiosity tickled and his mind off his own personal hell for a few hours each night.

          "…And, tonight we're starting with the wall-rappers," Killian's voice said.  "Ghosts, poltergeists, spooks, haunts and hauntings.  And for those of you who aren't precognitive, tomorrow it'll be time to phone home.  That's right, UFO time – aliens, Orsen Wells, Grover's Mill and Martians."

          "Now, I could tell you a few stories about that War of the Worlds, Jack," Harrison commented to the radio with a wry smile, remembering when they had run into aliens in Grover's Mill that were trying to retrieve a warship that had been buried there for fifty years.  He and the Project members had been lucky that time.

          "Wednesday we'll tackle ESP and other mind powers.  Thursday we'll hear about people who died – and came back – and on Friday we'll wrap up with a little magic and witchcraft, or wicca as practitioners call their religion, as well as shamanism, and voodoo."

          "But will they have any tuning-fork-weilding-vegetarian-astrophysicists on who stand on their head and watch candles burn?"

          Harrison looked up to find Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse leaning against the doorframe, a crooked smile on his angular, red-bronze face.  Their security expert and liaison with the military in the fight against the aliens, Ironhorse was a Cherokee, West Point grad Special Forces officer who had been sucked into Blackwood's world of hostile aliens by forces that Killian would do well to recognize on his show.  After an initial hostility, the two men now shared a bond of friendship and mutual trust tested by more life-threatening circumstances than Blackwood cared to remember.

          "You're up late, Colonel," Harrison commented, reaching out to turn down the volume on the radio.

          "I had several reports that needed my immediate attention; however, I'm going to bed now.  Unlike some people around here, I prefer a solid six hours of sleep."

          "You're going to miss an interesting show."

          "Killian's?"

          Blackwood nodded.

          "He seems like a pretty level-headed sort, but I could be wrong.  Besides, I get my quota of weird stuff living around you, Doctor."

          Blackwood grinned.  "Colonel, Colonel, you have to learn to keep an open mind.  Besides, what you mean is Jack probably doesn't stand on his head and refuse to eat meat."

          "Something like that," Ironhorse agreed.  "Good night, Doctor."

          "Good night, Colonel."

          Ironhorse disappeared and Blackwood turned the volume up again as the Nighthawk began his interview with his first guest, a researcher from the John F. Kennedy University in Orinda, California, who investigated hauntings and other ghostly phenomena.

          _Hmm, right down the road – more or less_ , the astrophysicist thought.  _Maybe we should look into what the University might have to offer in the way of alien-busters_.

          Blackwood leaned back in his chair and listened with a growing fascination as the two men discussed the scientist's various findings and hypotheses.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "…And good night, America, wherever you are."

          Jack pulled the headset off and tossed it on his desk while treating Billy to a large yawn.

          "I think it's time you saw a dentist, Jack," the producer quipped.

          "You're a riot," Jack growled, but ruined the effect with an added grin.  He was jazzed.  It had been an interesting show.  He wasn't sure if he believed all of what Dr. Daniel Rowyan had said, but it was definitely interesting.  The calls had gotten a little strange, but then they usually were on his show.

          Killian stood and stretched.  Devon had hit on a great idea when she suggested he do the special.  Of course, the fact that a good friend of hers had recently received a chairmanship at JFK University had absolutely nothing to do with it.  His grin widened.  He owed her a little good-natured teasing about favors for friends.

          "Well, I don't know about you," Killian said, running his fingers through his hair.  "But I'm going home to get a solid eight for a change."

          "Sounds good to me."  Billy waited until Jack was out of the booth before he added. "And watch out for any stray spooks hangin' around your place."

          Killian stopped and pointed a finger at the small man.  "Who ya gonna call?"

          Billy smiled and watched Jack swagger off.  "Get some sleep, Jack.  You're getting stranger than usual!"

          A good imitation of a Dracula laugh drifted back in reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday September 24: 0645**

 

          The three human-blended aliens proceeded down the hall of the John F. Kennedy University main parapsychology building, carrying out the various duties of the janitorial staff whose bodies they'd taken over.  At each office door they noted down on a piece of paper the name of the professor who occupied it, and their office and research hours.  In less than four hours the trio of aliens knew when their targets would be most vulnerable.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Good morning, Colonel," Harrison greeted him as Ironhorse joined the Blackwood Project members at the breakfast table following his morning run.

          "Doctor," the soldier replied, reaching for a helping of scrambled eggs and minced ham despite Blackwood's disapproving expression.

          "You missed a good show last night," Harrison said.  "Killian was talking to a researcher from the John F. Kennedy University about ghosts."

          A black eyebrow rose slowly.  "Ghostbusters, Doctor?"

          The two remaining members of the Project, microbiologist Suzanne McCullough and computer expert Norton Drake, stifled laughs.

          "Hardly," Blackwood said, taking the Colonel's skepticism in stride.  "I thought about this a lot last night, and maybe we should talk to some of the people they have at JFK.  Maybe they could provide us with some information we can't get by more conventional means."

          Suzanne nodded, setting down her toast.  "I'll admit to being skeptical about paranormal phenomena in general, but I'm at a place in my own research where I'll take any help I can get.  I've read some of the work they've done at JFK, and they do have some top-flight scientists on the faculty there."

          Drake echoed Suzanne's nod.  "When I was a kid, there were old people who still practiced magic.  And my grandmother could snatch away headaches with a feather and a rock.  I've seen what believing in magic can do, Colonel.  Maybe we could use some unconventional hex warfare on the aliens."

          "People, don't tell me you're all starting to fall for this mumbo-jumbo," Ironhorse said.  All he needed was Blackwood dabbling in anything weirder than he already did.

          "I thought it was ooga-booga," Blackwood said around a bite of whole-wheat toast and received an infamous Ironhorse glare in reply.  He shrugged.  "Just trying to keep up, Colonel."

          "Besides, would you like to explain what happened out on the Westeskiwin reservation without resorting to something that would be considered paranormal?  How did Joseph Lonetree destroy that warship?" Suzanne asked.

          "I don't know," Ironhorse admitted.  "But, I'm not ready to give all the credit to the spirits… yet."

          "But you admit there _are_ powers outside our ability to comprehend them," Harrison queried, growing more curious about Ironhorse's beliefs.

          "I'd be foolish not to, Doctor.  Let's just say I'm willing to keep an open mind, but you'll have to convince me.  But I _will_ do some checking.  We shouldn't overlook any possible means of defeating this enemy," Ironhorse said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

          "Well, tonight's show is on UFO's," Blackwood teased.  "Care to stay up and listen?  Who knows, maybe—"

          "No, thank you, Doctor, I get enough of that all day long."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday September 24: 1430**

 

          Dr. Natalia Kievchek looked up from her computer terminal and smiled at the young man standing across the desk.  "May I help you?"

          "I'd like to talk to you about the work you do here."

          The professor nodded.  "That's what I'm here for.  I'm actually involved in research concerning UFO sightings, abductions, and evidence of extraterrestrial life. And I do work in telekinetics.  So, what can I tell you more about?"

          The woman's eyes flew wide as an odd tearing and sucking sound preceded a green-gray arm exploding from the student's chest.  A three-digit hand grasped her around the throat, cutting off her cry for help.

          "You can tell me who your best psychics are," the student said, his voice taking on an odd reverberation.  Inserting another hand into the scientist's chest the alien began the blending process.

          Two other newly blended researchers met their commander in Kievchek's office.  "We must remove the evidence of our transferring hosts," he instructed the pair, nodding to the pool of putrid green slime spreading across the floor.  "Then we will review the files on the test subjects and make our selections.  This human knows most of the subjects, but not all of them."

          "It is the same for this human," said another human/alien.

          "And mine as well."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday September 24: 2345**

 

          Kevin Peters rode his mountain bike along the deserted streets of Orinda, heading for JFK University.  Over his walkman he listened to a teaser for the upcoming Nighthawk

show, Jack Killian explaining that their scheduled guest, Dr. Natalia Kievchek, would be unable to join him, but her associate, Dr. Hamilton Reding, was taking her place.

          Kevin frowned.  Dr. Kievchek had been looking forward to doing the radio show about her work on UFO's and the possibility of extraterrestrial life having visited the Earth in the past.  Oh, well, he thought, maybe the cold she was fighting finally caught up with her.  Still, as the young man neared the campus, he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

          Locking his bike to the railing outside the main research building and laboratory, he entered and made his way down the dark hallways to the Sleep Lab, ready to do his part for science by spending another night wired up for Dr. Stevens' dream research.  Kevin paused outside the lab, surprised to find the light on, and the sound of other people speaking echoing out from under the door.

          Kevin shrugged, pushed the door open and entered.  "Dr. Rowyan?"

          "Hello, Kevin.  Come on in.  We're ready to get started."

          The young man looked nervously around the room, his pale blond hair falling into his eyes.  He pushed it back, fear filling the blue orbs.  Two of his fellow test subjects were lying on beds, apparently unable to move, an odd green glow reflecting off their fear-filled eyes.  Dr. Rowyan and Dr. Stevens were both smiling at him, but their eyes held no humor, only the promise of nightmares.

          "What's going on?" Kevin managed.

          A voice from behind the young man replied.  "You're about to find out."

          Kevin spun.  "Dr. Kievchek?"

          The woman smiled.  "Don't worry, Kevin.  I have made a wonderful breakthrough.  There is indeed life among the stars."

          "What's going on?" he yelled at the three professors he had respected and worked with for three semesters.

          "And that life is here, now," Dr. Kievchek said, the third arm breaking free of her chest, and pinning Kevin to the wall.  He struggled frantically, but in his mind knew the battle was lost as the digits dug into his throat.  He mentally pulled back inside, hastily building as many barriers between himself and the monsters he saw as he could.

          "I will take this one," the commander said, continuing to hold the body of the young man, allowing the shell of Dr. Kievchek to fall away as he blended with Kevin Peters.  Once the process was completed he turned to his two companions.  "Quickly, take the other two and we will leave.  We have much to tell the Advocacy. We are triumphant.  We will live life immortal!"

          Kevin's consciousness cowered at first, hiding from the foreign presence that seemed everywhere and nowhere in his mind.  The wash of new sensations was overwhelming, but once he gained his bearings, the young psychic ventured out, his anger mounting.

          "Arugghh!"

          "Commander, what is it?" asked the alien in the body of twenty-year-old Sally Rogers.

          "I— I don't know.  The human, he is still here.  He is fighting me for control of this body.  This cannot be."

          The other Mor'taxans exchanged concerned looks.  Neither of the soldiers had encountered such a problem.  All of the Mor'taxans had heard of others of their kind who had blended with particularly strong human personalities and the resulting difficulty they had controlling the bodies.  However, those soldiers simply abandoned the troublesome creatures, killing them and acquiring new, more easily controlled hosts.

          This was a different situation altogether.  They and their commander were under direct orders from the Advocacy to bring these humans back for study.  He could not abandon the body.

          "Can you continue the mission?" asked the third, occupying Scott Diller's body.

          "I must," the commander hissed through clenched teeth.

          A scream tore from Kevin's body.  "No!  I won't let you have my body!"

          The two aliens stepped back, speaking rapidly in their own language.  Kevin turned and bolted from the room, charging from the building and running across one of the open grass areas of the campus as each personality fought for control.  The two aliens followed, but lost the young man in the dark shadows clinging to the building and trees.

          "We must contact the Advocacy," Sally said, starting back to the nearest phone, her thick red-blond ponytail bouncing.

          "We must not allow him to escape."

          "We cannot do both!"

          Scott paused, and then nodded.  "We need counsel."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday September 25: 0130**

 

          Harrison listened with eager curiosity as Jack led the discussion on UFO's.  Then the phone call came.

          Jack nodded to Billy.  "Okay, now we're going to Kevin, from Orinda.  Talk to me, Kevin.  Have you seen a UFO?"

          "Dr. Reding?" the voice stammered.

          Killian frowned.  The kid sounded frightened, very frightened.  The professor heard it too, and he hesitated.  Jack nodded at the man, reaching up to cover his mike and whisper.  "Find out who it is.  It sounds like he's in trouble."

          "Yes, this is Dr. Reding.  Do I know you?"

          "It's Kevin Peters, Doctor."

          "Kevin?  What's wrong?"

          "I need help, Doctor.  Please."

          "Tell me what's wrong."

          "There's an alien inside me.  I don't know how, but he wants what I know, what's in my mind, but he can't understand it.  It hurts, Doctor.  Please, help me.  He wants to use us!  I can't keep him out of my mind!  He's going to use me against my own kind.  It's the cold.  It's affected it.  I'm trying to fight.  The cold, he doesn't know why…"

          Billy and Jack exchanged worried looks.  Neither of them believed what the kid was saying, but Kevin obviously did.

          "Look, we want to help you, Kevin," Jack said, pointing to Billy.  "Where did this alien find you?"

          "At school.  They were waiting from me.  They have Sally and Scott, too.  Oh, God, you have to do something.  It hurts.  They hate us so much."

          "Okay, we have to go to a commercial now, but stay on the line with us, Kevin.  We do want to help."

          "You have to help me!  They want to take over the world!  They're back!  They found a warship!  Please!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison's feet slipped off his desk and hit the floor as he reached for the phone before he even realized he was moving.  The dial-in number for Killian's show, announced several times during each broadcast, came effortlessly.

          "Hello, KJCM, can I have your name and where you're calling from?"

          "I'm sorry, I can't tell you that, but I think I can help Kevin, if I can talk to him."

          Billy looked at his computer screen and punched in several commands, asking the system to trace the call to its source.  The machine beeped stubbornly, and the producer realized that the man must be calling from a secured line.  "Look, hold on a second, okay?"

          "Yes, but hurry.  Please."

          Billy punched the hold button and waved at Jack, who was in quiet discussion with Dr. Redding.  When that didn't catch the man's attention Po hit the intercom. "Jack, pick up the private line."

          "Killian."

          "It's me," Billy said.  "Look, I have a guy on hold who says he can help Kevin. He sounds serious."

          "Yeah, like a serious fruitcake.  That kid's scared to death," Jack said, nervously tapping the eraser end of a pencil against his desk.

          "Listen, Jack, this guy said he couldn't give his name or number."

          "Where's he calling from?"

          "That's just it," Po said.  "The line's secure; I can't get a fix on the location."

          Killian looked up, meeting the Oriental's eyes through the glass partition.  He felt like he was quickly losing control of the situation, and it annoyed him.  "Okay, put him on.  The Doc's talking to Kevin.  Oh, and stick on a couple of tunes, will you?"

          "Sure.  Here he comes."

          "This is Killian," Jack said, his tone slightly irritated.

          "Jack," Harrison said, "listen, I know this might not make a lot of sense to you, but I think I can help Kevin."

          "Are you a doctor?"

          "Yes," Blackwood answered immediately, failing to add that he had a doctorate in astrophysicist.  "If you could tell me where Kevin is I could meet him, and—"

          "Whoa, slow down, how do I know you're not lying to me?  How do I know you aren't a reporter who wants to exploit this kid?  You won't tell me your name or where you're calling from, but you want to me to tell you where Kevin is?  I don't think so, man," Jack said.  He wanted to trust the man, but damned if he knew why.  He scrubbed a hand across the back of his rapidly tensing neck.

          "I swear to you, I won't do anything to hurt Kevin.  I just want to help him.  I can't tell you who I am or where I'm calling from because I do high security work."

          Killian took a deep breath.  He could hear that Dr. Redding was getting nowhere with the kid.  And there was something about the caller's voice, an urgent sincerity and just a trace of what the DJ thought was fear.  Why was he scared?

          "Please, Jack."

          "Why do I believe you?" Killian asked, leaning forward in his chair.

          "Because I'm telling the truth.  Where is he?"

          "Just a second."  Jack hit another extension button and Billy picked up the line.  "Billy, where's Kevin calling from?"

          "Orinda, but he didn't give me anything more than that."

          "Great.  Look, stick with the songs until we get this sorted out."  Hanging up the phone, Killian pressed another button and interrupted Kevin and Redding.  "Kevin, it's me, Jack.  I have a guy, a doctor, on another line who says he can help you.  He wants to know where you are so he can meet you."

          "What if he's an alien?" the young man asked, his voice rising dramatically.  "They're looking for me.  They want to take me back to their Advocacy."

          Jack took a deep breath and tried his best to keep his voice level and calm.  "Kevin, look, I don't know who he is, but I think he's telling the truth about helping you.  Tell me where you are."

          "I— I—"  It was clear the man was struggling to reveal the information, and for a moment Jack almost believed he had been taken over by another life form, but the thought passed quickly into pity for a young man so obviously disturbed.  "I'm at JFK University, there are two other ones looking for me.  I'm— I'm in the Psi Labs.  Tell him to be careful.  They'll try to kill him."

          "Just hang on, Kevin.  We're going to get some help to you."  Punching the blinking button on his console Jack asked, "You're really going to help this kid?"

          "I give you my word."

          "Helluva lot of good that does if I don't know who you are," Killian snapped.  There was something going on here, something very out of the ordinary.

          "Call me Harry."

          Jack rubbed his eyes.  It was all he was going to get from the man.  He sighed.  His head said it was foolish to trust the guy, but his gut said tell him, before it was too late.  "Kevin said he was at JFK University, in the Psi Lab."

          "Can you put Dr. Redding on?  I'll need to get directions."

          "Why don't you talk to Kevin, it might help calm him down.  And, Harry, I hope to hell you know what you're doing," the DJ said, mentally surrendering.

          "Jack, thank you."

          "Yeah, you're welcome," Killian sighed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday September 25: 0400**

 

          After breaking every speed limit on the way, Harrison made his way across the dark campus, hoping he wasn't walking into a trap.  If Kevin did have an alien blended with him, that alien would know everything Kevin did, including the fact that he himself was coming to meet with the young man.  Still, if Kevin had managed to retain control of his body, Blackwood needed to talk to him.

          Harrison took a deep breath and shivered slightly in the damp early morning cold.  Ironhorse was going to have his hide for leaving without taking along any protection, but he had given Kevin his word that he'd come alone.

          Spotting the brick building, Blackwood slowed, trying to remember all the ways the colonel used to assess a situation for signs of the enemy, but it was still too dark for him to make out anything.  Carefully he moved to the side door of the building, blocked from view by two overgrown oleanders that the grounds people had forgotten to trim.  Once inside Blackwood checked for a room number and headed for 113.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Killian leaned back in his chair and stretched.  _Too weird, too freakin' weird_ , he thought.  Glancing up at the clock the DJ wondered what the hell was happening.

          Kevin had stayed on the line with Jack, talking to him on the private line during the commercial breaks.  The young man knew the DJ thought he was crazy, but it didn't matter.  He knew what was going on, just as the Mor'taxan commander did.  They fought a continual battle for possession of Kevin's body and mind, but for the moment Kevin held the upper hand, knowing his mind better than the alien.  The exercises he had learned over the last year and a half at JFK helped him hold the creature back, but it was just a matter of time before he tired, or the other two arrived.

          There was something else, too, something different for the commander, and Kevin felt the creature's affirmation when he recalled Dr. Kievchek's cold.  Somehow that had made a difference even if the young man wasn't sure how.  Maybe Harry would know.

          Talking to the astrophysicist had helped, too.  Something in the Commander's mind – a subtle fear and respect for a worthy enemy – made Kevin trust Harry.  The alien commander thought he knew who Harry was.  A scientist named Harrison Blackwood.  If that were true, Blackwood was one of a team of people fighting the invasion, and doing a pretty good job of it if the thoughts Kevin picked up from the Mor'taxan were any indication.  Maybe Blackwood could help him.  At least he hadn't heard anything from the other two soldiers.

          There was a soft knock on the door, a pause and three more soft taps.  Harry.

          Kevin shuffled over and unlocked the door.  A tall man with curly brown hair stood outside.  He looked worried and anxious.  "Kevin?" he asked, taking a slight step back.

          "Yes, for now," the young man said with a weary smile.  Harry seemed to be about forty, and in a few ways reminded Kevin of his father.  "Are you-are you Harrison Blackwood?"

          The astrophysicist paused, studying the student with intense pale-blue eyes. "How did you know that?"

          "The commander thought it might be you.  He and his people know about your work with the Blackwood Project.  Is Colonel Ironhorse here?"

          "No, not here, Kevin.  We have to get you out of here and into a safe house where I can bring in more of my coworkers."  Harrison fought back a chill.  If they knew his name, and Ironhorse's, what else were the aliens aware of?

          "He likes that," Kevin said, clutching his stomach.  "The commander wants to kill you and the others.  It will earn him high praise from the Advocacy.  Please, I don't know how long I can stay in control.  You have to get me someplace where I won't hurt anyone."

          "I will, Kevin, I will, you just have to hold on.  Why did he absorb you?" Harrison asked, motioning for Kevin to come with him.

          "They want to understand about psychic powers.  They need to use them to get a warship that's on an Indian reservation."

          "Where's the reservation?"

          Kevin stopped, his body beginning to shake.  "They're afraid… after the last time… they—"  A vicious string of alien-speak tore through the blond's throat.

          Harrison backed away.

          Kevin moaned.  "They were defeated once…  They need something to fight back with.  They think we can give them a weapon!"  He screamed, falling to his knees.  Blackwood started forward, but the young man threw up a hand in warning. "Run, Harrison, I can't—  New Mexico!  No!  The reservation's in Arizona.  The mountains!  Harrison, it's the cold, the cold let me do this!  Remember!  Run!"

          The third arm shot out of Kevin's chest, nearly snagging Blackwood as he backpedaled.  Another burst of alien-speak assaulted the scientist's ears and he turned, running into the black shadows.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "There," Sally said to her comrade.  Scott nodded and they ran to help their leader to his feet.

          "Commander?" Scott questioned.

          "Yes, I am finally in control of this bothersome human, but there is another here we must find.  Harrison Blackwood knows too much, thanks to this meddling human.  We must kill him, or take him back for the Advocacy.  Come."

          "Commander, the Advocacy instructed us to bring you back immediately," Sally said.

          "That was before I was in control of this body.  We must stop this man.  He is one of those in the Blackwood Project who is fighting us," the commander argued.

          "Hey!  Who's there?"

          The three human/aliens turned to find one of the campus security guards approaching.  The commander smiled.  "We will have a weapon," he said softly.  "Then we will get others."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison's lungs were on fire and he was huffing for breath when he reached the Bronco and climbed in, locking the door behind him.  Snatching up the mobile phone lying on the seat he punched out the number to the Cottage.

          "Blackwood, where the hell are you?"

          "Colonel, waiting for my call?" he asked between the gasps of air he hauled into his lungs.

          "Where are you!"

          "JFK University.  Get Omega over here – _now_.  There's a boy, Kevin Peters, who's fighting an alien takeover.  We have to help him.  We can learn so much if—"

          The sound of a shot caused Harrison to roll onto the floorboards of the truck as best he could.  Scrambling forward, he opened the passenger side door and tumbled out.  In the truck he was a sitting duck.  The phone slipped from his fingers as a second shot rang out.  Blackwood felt an eruption of pain in his head and he lunged off, knowing nothing but the blind panic that kept him running.

          Colonel Ironhorse slammed the receiver down and pressed the intercom button that would ring Omega Squad in the guest house.  "Situation level three," he barked into the microphone.  "Fall out, people – on the double!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jack heard the gunshot, and immediately sprinted back toward the parking lot he'd just left.  _I shouldn't have come_ , Jack thought as he ran.  _I should leave the nutcases to someone else…_

          Stumbling to a stop as he reached the almost empty lot, he crouched along one of the service vehicles.  A tall, curly-headed man was bolting away from a black Bronco, his weaving sprint a good indication that he'd been hit.  Killian poked his head up for a quick sweep of the area.  Three young people, two men and a girl, debated among themselves in a language the ex-police officer couldn't place, and then charged after the fleeing man.

          Killian followed the threesome, careful to remain in the shadows.  He guessed the man was Harry, but the idea that one of the attackers might be Kevin didn't arise in his speculations.  After a few blocks, the threesome stopped, having lost their prey.  Jack grinned.  He had seen Harry slip into the all-night laundry, and if he was smart, he would be ducking out the back.

          With a sprint, Killian broke away, and headed for the alley he knew the laundromat would open onto.  It was empty.  _Damn!_ he thought, stopping to catch his breath.  What the hell was going on?

          Straightening, he turned and started back for his car.  It was time to call Carl.  Jack checked his watch and wondered if the police lieutenant would mind an early wake-up.

          Reaching the parking lot again, Killian walked carefully to the Bronco.  The passenger-side door was still open, and the splattering of blood on the asphalt confirmed his suspicions about Harry being hit.  Jack was tempted to search the vehicle himself, but it was likely to become a crime scene, and the lab boys wouldn't appreciate him contaminating the site.  It was definitely time to make that call.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday September 25: 0530**

 

          The elite Special Forces squad fanned out from the Bronco, sergeants Stavrakos and Coleman on the blood trail.  Ironhorse looked down at the splattering of red on the ground and silently cursed Blackwood's independent nature.  How the hell did the scientist expect him to do his job of protecting them if Blackwood persisted in going off on his own?

          The sound of two men approaching drew his attention back to situation.

          "Are you in charge here?" one of them asked.

          Police, the colonel guessed, and he wasn't happy.  "Yes, sir.  I'm Lieutenant Colonel Ironhorse, U.S. Army Special Forces."

          Carl glanced at the chopper sitting at the other end of the empty parking lot. Okay, so that explained how the Army beat him to the scene, but why the hell were they here?  What had Jack stumbled into this time?

          "Lt. Zymack, San Francisco police.  Do you want to tell me what in the hell's going on here?  This is a crime scene."

          "Terrorists, Lieutenant," the colonel said, feeding the man the cover story the Project used in cases like this.  "If you need more than that, you'll have to contact the Pentagon.  This is a highly classified operation, strictly need to know.  I'm sorry. My people won't interfere with whatever you need to do, but we ask for the same in return."

          "Funny, I heard it was aliens," said the second man.  He was about Ironhorse's age with sandy-blond hair worn slightly too long for the officer's taste.  The inquisitiveness in the hazel eyes reminded the soldier of Blackwood.

          The colonel started slightly, and Jack realized the officer had actually paled at his words.  The gnawing feeling that he was caught in a _Twilight Zone_ episode gripped the DJ, and he found himself glancing unconsciously around for Rod Sterling.  "Sorry, Colonel, it was just a joke."

          "Colonel Ironhorse, this is Jack Killian," Zymack said.

          The man extended his hand, and Ironhorse shook it.  "You don't happen to know someone named Harry, do you?" Killian asked hopefully.

          "Could we talk?" the colonel asked.

          Jack nodded.

          Ironhorse turned to the lieutenant.  "If you'll excuse us?"

          Zymack raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.  Whatever this was, it was big, or damned important to someone with lots of clout.

          Ironhorse led the DJ to the edge of the parking lot before he spoke.  "What do you know about Harry?"

          "I host a talk show—"

          "I'm familiar with it."

          "Well, tonight it was on UFOs.  This kid, Kevin, called in.  He was scared to death, said an alien had taken over his body, and he needed help.  Then some guy named Harry called and said he'd help the kid.  I let the two of them talk, and Harry calmed the kid down.  They arranged to meet here.  I was curious, so when the show was over, I dropped in."

          "And?" Ironhorse prompted, wondering if Killian had seen anything he was going to have to find a way around explaining.

          "I was trying to find the building where Kevin said he'd be when I heard a shot.  I ran back to the parking lot, and I saw a guy running away.  There were three students.  They spoke a weird language; I've never heard anything like it.  They tried to follow the guy, but lost him about eight blocks from here when he slipped into a laundromat and went out the back.  He slipped me, too."

          "I see.  Can you give the location of that laundry to one of my men?"

          "I think so.  Oh, and, Colonel, the man they were chasing was hit."

          "I know," Ironhorse said, and Killian caught the underlying concern beneath the impassive expression on the man's face.

          "Colonel, one question for you."

          "What is it, Mr. Killian?" Ironhorse asked, taking several short, clipped paces.

          "How the hell did you get here so fast?  I mean, besides the chopper," he questioned.

          "Bla— Harry called me.  I was talking to him when the shooting started," he said, reaching unconsciously for the mobile phone hanging from his web belt.

          Killian stepped closer to the soldier.  He might be anxious about Harry, but at least he seemed in control of the situation.  "Who were those kids?"

          "Terrorists, Mr. Killian."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday September 25: 1530**

 

          Lost and very confused, Harrison stumbled through the poverty-stricken neighborhood.  Although he knew he had been trying for the past several hours to remember who he was, where he was, and why he knew there were monsters trying to hunt him down, he'd made little progress.

          Forced to rest, he leaned against the damp bricks of a burned-out building and tried to subdue the pounding in his head enough to stop the exploding white and yellow spots obscuring his vision.  Further down the street several street people stood hunched around an oil drum that held a fire.

          He shivered.  He was cold.  Cold…   _It's the cold_ , a voice echoed in his head. But why?  And what did it mean?

          He took three steps toward the men and froze.  The drum frightened him, but Harrison didn't know why.  The street people also made him anxious, but the need to get warm drove him on across the street to where he joined the others near the burning container, freeing his limbs from the lock of chills before he saw the Sacred Heart mission.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday September 25: 1900**

 

          "Nothing, sir," Stavrakos said, his voice carefully controlled to still sound optimistic. He knew the colonel was worried about Dr. Blackwood, more worried than he would let on, and the sergeant didn't want to add to it.

          Ironhorse cursed softly.  "All right, take three men and get back to the Cottage.  Make sure everyone is out and in a safe house A.S.A.P.  Take as much of the data as you can and still be out of there in thirty minutes.  Leave word for me via Major Allen at Ft. Streeter.  Consider this situation an Alpha-Blue.  I have to go talk to a radio station owner."

          "Yes, sir.  And the rest of the men?"

          "I want them on the streets in pairs.  Two at the University, two at the radio station, the rest running a grid sweep of the neighborhoods around the campus.  Call in additional troops from Streeter if you need them."

          "Yes, sir."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jack frowned down at the goo-like substance the police investigators had found in the sleep labs.  There was more of the stuff in one of the dumpsters outside the parapsychology building, and near the Physical Resources building.  No one had any idea what the stuff was, but clothes and personal possessions were mixed into it in the most macabre manner.

          "What the hell is going on here?" Zymack asked, frustrated.

          "Beats me, but that colonel knows more than he's saying," Jack said quietly.

          "I figured that.  I ran a check on the guy and got nowhere.  His records are sealed.  It's like he's a damned protected witness.  I even got a call back from someone in the Pentagon asking me what the hell I was doing inquiring into his records in the first place."

          Jack whistled softly, and then gave his friend a disarming smile.  "You know, I might try calling you one of these days, real soon, and you'll have disappeared, too.  It sounds like the guy's a spook of some sort."

          "Spooky is more like it.  What I was able to locate on Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse is very impressive.  Vietnam vet, high ranking officer inside Delta Force, and he commanded a highly successful anti-terrorist unit until 1988 when the records dry up.  He's got medals and accommodations up the yin-yang, a reputation for getting the job done and I, for one, would love to know just what the hell that job is."

          "Bond, James Bond," Killian said with a fairly good imitation of the Connery character.

          "Cute, Jack, real cute.  You're just a barrel of laughs.  You're sure you can't tell me anything more?" Zymack asked hopefully.

          Jack snorted in frustration.  "You got it all.  It's like running into a stone wall."

          "When do we ever have much to go on?" the police officer mumbled.

          Killian shrugged.  "It's big, Carl, whatever it is.  I can feel it."

          "Yeah, well, your feeling and mine won't find either of those two men."  Zymack looked up, barking out to one of the lab technicians nearby.  "Get someone get over here and get a sample of this stuff.  I want to know what the hell it is!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Ironhorse here," the colonel said into the mobile phone.

          "Colonel, it's Norton.  I'm putting you on the box so Suzanne can hear.  Look, I've been monitoring the local police computer since you called so I could keep up with the progress of their investigation."

          "Good idea, Norton.  What's going on?" the soldier asked him.

          "They just filed a request on the National Crime Network for reports of, and I quote – 'apparently melted bodies' – end quote," Drake told him.

          "Damn," Ironhorse sighed.

          "What should we do, big guy?"

          "I'll call General Wilson and inform him.  He'll need to head that off and give the local authorities some sort of story that will satisfy them."

          "Any news on Harrison?" Suzanne asked, the concern she felt slipping out iin her worried tone.

          "Not yet," Ironhorse said more optimistically than he felt.  "But Omega Squad is still searching for him.  Don't worry, Suzanne.  We'll find him."

          "Keep us posted," Norton told him.

          "I will."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday September 25: 2100**

 

          "Look, Colonel Ironhorse, I appreciate the seriousness of your mission, but I won't let the military come in and suspend this station's, or Jack Killian's, first amendment rights."

          Ironhorse watched Devon King carefully.  She was a beautiful but no-nonsense business woman, and he really didn't want to pull a job on her or her station to keep Killian from possibly revealing anything about the Blackwood Project.  But Killian was bright.  He had seen Ironhorse's reaction at the mention of aliens – a stupid and serious mistake on his part – and coupled with Kevin's story, Harrison's reply and the military showing up at JFK, the ex-police officer already knew something important was going on.

          "Believe me, Ms. King.  I don't have any intention of interfering with your station or Mr. Killian's broadcasts.  I simply want the best chance possible of getting my man back safely, without compromising a highly sensitive government anti-terrorist action.  If I could talk to Mr. Killian for a moment I'm sure I could make it clear—"

          "What, that aliens are invading our planet and they take over human bodies?" Jack asked, stepping into join the pair.

          The man was serious and Ironhorse realized that the only way to get Killian's help might be to reveal the truth.  He sighed inwardly.  He would deal with that when the time came.  "Mr. Killian, I won't need much of your time."

          Killian looked at Devon, who shrugged, leaving the decision to him.  He knew she'd back him up whatever he decided.  "All right, Colonel, let's talk."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday September 26: 0230**

 

          "And now, before we go to a commercial break, Kevin, Harry, if you're out there, please, give me a call.  I'd like to know how things came out."  He had managed to keep his voice light, but he was still worried.  He looked up and crossed his fingers.  Billy gave him a thumbs-up in reply and Ironhorse, standing behind the producer, his arms folded across his chest, simply nodded.

          The radio host was amazed at the candor the Special Forces officer demonstrated as he explained in clear, no-nonsense terms that he and Harry – or more specifically, Harrison Blackwood – were part of a special, top-secret unit set up to fight a highly trained terrorist organization who were using the alien story as a way to cover their activity and induce panic.  Killian also didn't believe a word of it.  The man was a consummate liar, but he wasn't perfect.

          More skeptical than most of the people he knew, Jack had seen the odd pools of slime, and the look in the officer's eyes – both times – when he mentioned the word alien.  He wasn't sure he wanted to believe it, but Killian couldn't shake the feeling that that was exactly what the colonel, his squad, Blackwood and God-knew-how-many others, were fighting, and it scared the hell out of him.

          Billy looked up and nodded once.  Jack reached out and pressed the button on the private line.  "This is the Nighthawk, talk to me."

          "Jack?"

          "Yeah, who's this?  Kevin?"

          "I— I don't know."

          Killian could see the colonel talking into his mobile phone as he read the location off Po's computer screen.  The tap he had installed would give them a street address if he could keep the man on the line for two minutes.

          "Harry?"

          "Is that my name?  I don't know why I called you, but I— I thought I was supposed to."

          "Yeah, man, you were.  Harry, what happened?" Jack asked, coaxing the man to talk.

          "I'm not sure.  It's all a blur.  Someone's trying to kill me."

          "Who, Harry?  Who wants to kill you?"  Killian pressed his hands against the top of his table, forcing his voice to remain calm and reassuring.

          "I don't know.  I really don't even know my name.  I shouldn't be talking to you.  It's too dangerous."  The line went dead. 

          "Damn it!"  Killian swore, watching Ironhorse bolt out the door.

          Billy shook his head and shrugged as Jack pressed the line into his booth.  "Did the Colonel get an address?"

          "Yeah, over in Orinda, west end of town.  You have fifteen seconds…"

          Jack combed his fingers through his hair, knowing he was stuck where he was.  What the hell was going on?  The light flashed.  "So, we're back with Dr. Amanda Carlsen. Doctor, how many people have had a near death experience?"

          "According to the research we and other institutions around the country have conducted, we'd say that approximately ten percent of the population have had, or will have, a near death experience…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday September 26: 0500**

 

          "And you have no idea where he might have gone?" the colonel asked.  The young black woman shook her head, watching the military man with a wariness born of too many months on the street.  Ironhorse wondered what had driven the girl to live this way, and he gave her a reassuring smile, fishing into his pocket for some money which he handed to her.  "Please, get a hot meal, okay?"

          She nodded.  "He was walkin' that way," she said softly, pointing down the street, then turned and scurried down the alley.  He watched her go for a moment, then turned and joined the three waiting Omegans.

          "Okay, it's all we have.  We know Blackwood was at the mission, but he left after he called Killian.  The girl says she saw him walking that way.  Derriman, you and Alverez take the Jeep and just cruise the area.  Talk to the street people and see what you can turn up."

          "Yes, sir," the pair chorused.

          "Stavrakos, I want you at the radio station, just in case Dr. Blackwood calls back.  I don't think he will, but I want it covered.  Send the pair on duty there out here."

          "Yes, sir.  Can I ask what you're going to do, Colonel?"

          "I'm going to follow a hunch, Sergeant.  I'm going back to the University."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jack Killian paced across his living room floor, deciding that he must have put in at least three miles as he tried to decide what to do.  Granted, he was worried about Kevin and Harry, but he didn't know them, didn't really know anything about them.  They were just two people whose lives had somehow gotten tangled up with his in the most bizarre way.

          _What can you do?_ he asked himself.

          _How should I know!  The Colonel isn't talking, Carl can't get anything to go on, I don't know where either of them would go…_

          He paused, raising a hand to rub along the back of his neck.  _Maybe I do.  The school.  It's all sort of centered around the university.  The professors on my show, the kid being a test subject there…  Jeeze, makes you wonder what sort of testing they were doing on him.  Harry's the only wild card._

_Hell, he and the Colonel and that whole situation is a wild card, but it's all tied to the school._

          He smiled.  Time to visit the campus.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday September 26: 1400**

 

          Ironhorse was now satisfied that he understood exactly what had happened at JFK University.  He had spent the day talking to a number of people and knew there were three custodial staff missing, as well as three professors from the parapsychology department who conducted psychic testing and classes, and three test subjects, who had failed to appear for their regular appointments.

          The police had found nine sets of remains on the campus, although the aliens had tried to hide three of them – the original hosts, the missing custodians and the faculty members, he was sure.  The students were their targets.

          _And they could be anywhere by now_ , he argued with himself.

          But for some reason Ironhorse didn't believe they were gone.  They were still in the city, still looking for Kevin or Blackwood.  And, in all likelihood, still somewhere close to the university.

          The only thing that didn't make sense was Kevin Peters' resistance to the blending. At first Ironhorse thought the aliens had used it as a ploy to drag the Project members out, but it was a long shot at best and he couldn't believe they would risk such an operation on those odds.

          He sighed.  He was starting to sound like Blackwood, seeing the aliens behind anything even remotely out of the ordinary.

          No, somehow Kevin had actually managed to fight off the alien presence for some period of time, and for all Ironhorse knew, the young man might still be fighting.  And however it was Peters had managed that feat, it was up to the Blackwood Project to discover how and then use that knowledge to help defeat the aliens.  That was Blackwood's department.

          Where the hell was Blackwood?

          The colonel suspected that the astrophysicist was suffering from some form of amnesia, probably induced from a bullet graze to the head.  But what really bothered the soldier was the thought that the aliens might still be looking for him as well.  If they had an idea who Blackwood was…

          No.  He refused to think about that.  Besides, Suzanne, Norton, Debi and Mrs. Pennyworth were safely away from the Cottage.  Omega was packing their files and equipment and they too would be gone before nightfall, carried to a new safe house that even Ironhorse didn't know the location of – just in case.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Advocate, do you think that wise?  The commander has only minimal control over this body."

          "You question our counsel?" the female advocate asked in what sounded decidedly like human irritation.

          The soldier dismissed the thought; that was impossible.  "No, Advocate, we are nothing without your counsel."

          "Then you will carry out our command.  Return to the institution and bring us the files on this human, then return here at once.  We must have the knowledge if we are to take possession of our warship.  All else is secondary."

          "Yes, Advocate."

          "To life immortal."

          "To life immortal."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat in Dr. Kathy Thineas' office and reviewed the files of the three missing students.  He closed them and tucked them under an arm.  "Dr. Thineas, I appreciate your cooperation.  I will return these to you as soon as possible."

          "I'm not happy about handing those over, Colonel Ironhorse, but I wasn't given an option," the woman replied coldly.

          "I realize that, and I'm sorry."

          Dr. Thineas returned to her work, wondering if the straight-forward Colonel ever let his guard down enough to have fun.  He was definitely an attractive man and she hated the thought of all that potential going to waste.  She smiled and shook her head.  The last thing she needed was a crush on a mysterious Army officer!

          "Dr. Thineas?"

          Kathy turned and found Sally Rogers standing across the desk from her.  "Sally?  Where have you been?  There are people looking for you and—"

          "I know," the girl said, stepping around the desk.  Kevin and Scott joined the two women.

          "What's going on here?" Kathy demanded from her students.

          "We need our files," Sally said.

          "Your files?"

          The two young men were already moving off to search the file cabinets, returning empty handed.  "Where are the files?" Scott demanded.

          "I don't know!" Dr. Thineas lied.

          Kevin nodded to Sally, who grabbed the woman, holding her as Scott reached out, pressing against her temple until his three fingers disappeared into her skull.  Kathy blinked several times before she began speaking.  "A man, an Army Colonel named Ironhorse—"

          Scott picked up the conversation.  "Took the files several minutes ago."

          Pulling his fingers free, he watched the woman fall to the floor.  "We should still be able to find him."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse felt his battle sense begin to buzz and glanced around the campus. It was quiet, most of the students were in class.  JFK only had graduate students, although the test subjects like Kevin Peters were younger and not actually enrolled on the campus.  The northern California university was the only campus in the country to offer a graduate degree in parapsychology, and the nagging feeling that he was going to know more about that field than he ever wanted to haunted the colonel's thoughts.

          When he was a boy, his grandfather had told him that one day Paul Ironhorse would be a great shaman, but he would not walk the medicine path as his ancestors had.  Paul wondered if this was just another step on that particular unique journey he seemed destined to make.  Ever since he had met Joseph Lonetree, shaman of the Westeskiwin nation, Ironhorse had been experiencing dreams and visions, and his battle sense had become keener.  It was also currently buzzing like Norton's motorized wheelchair.

          Killian.

          The man was walking across a small grassy area, obviously intent on joining him.  But where were the enemy?

          There!

          Ironhorse spotted one of them in the trees.  Scott.  He scanned the shadows locating the girl, Sally, but there was no sign of Kevin.

          "Colonel, I'd like to talk to you."

          "Not now, Mr. Killian, we're right in the middle of trouble."

          "You want to run that by me again?" Jack asked, looking around at the quiet campus.  "Trouble?"

          "Terrorists, Mr. Killian.  We're being watched by two of them, and I don't know where the third is.  Now, if you'll just follow me, we might both get out of this alive."

          Jack knew the man was deadly serious, so he held back the comment that played on the tip of his tongue and fell into step alongside the Special Forces officer.

          They cut a path through the most open areas as they made for the parking lot.  The ex-police officer caught sight of the two people shadowing them.  They seemed reluctant to attack in the open, and Killian wondered if they were armed, and with what.

          "When I say run, you head for that Jeep," Ironhorse said, passing Killian the keys.  "Get it going and get the hell out of here."

          "What about you?"

          "This is my job, Mr. Killian.  I'll be fine, but I don't want a civilian caught in a crossfire."

          "Look, somehow I ended up in the middle of this mess, and I'll be damned if I just drive out of here," Jack stated emphatically.

          Ironhorse shot the man a disgusted look.  He sounded like Blackwood.  "Then get the Jeep, and get back to me and we'll both beat an honorable retreat."

          "Now you're talking."

          "Ready… Go."

          Killian sprinted for the Jeep as Ironhorse pulled his M9 Beretta from under his jacket and dove for the cover of a station wagon just as a bullet buzzed over his head.  He came up, searching for a target, but the aliens were hidden among the vehicles.  The engine of the Jeep turned over, and failed.  Killian tried again, with the same results.

          Kevin must have been in the parking lot, disabling the vehicle, the colonel surmised.  He had to get back to the DJ.

          Sprinting in a low crouch, Ironhorse raced along the row of cars, then lunged from cover to cross the distance to the next row.

          A second shot rang out and he stumbled slightly as it nicked his shoulder blade.

          "Colonel!"

          Jack was there, pulling him to cover.  "Damn it, Killian, be careful.  I'm fine."

          "I don't call bleeding fine, Colonel.  I was a cop, remember?"  Reaching into his rear pocket, Killian tugged a bandanna free and pressed it against the injury.  "Looks like a flesh wound."

          Ironhorse grunted.  The slug had come close to the bone, causing his shoulder to start a slow painful burn as the initial numbness wore off.  He rolled abruptly away from the man's ministrations, firing.  A yell came in reply.  The female fell.

          Jack watched the body dissolve.  Another second and she would have shot them.

          "What in the hell is that?" Killian said, fighting back nausea.

          "Your guess is as good as mine," Ironhorse lied.  "There are two more.  We have to find better cover."  The distant sound of police sirens echoed across the parking lot.  The aliens were rapidly running out of time.

          Helping Ironhorse as they edged along the cars, Jack spotted Scott as he moved for a better position.  "There," he whispered, his eyebrows raising as he nodded.

          The colonel looked, took careful aim and waited for the next time the young man moved between cars, then fired.  Killian nearly objected but when the same hiss began and the body began to melt, he held his comment.

          "Where's Kevin?" Ironhorse whispered absently.

          "Kevin?" Jack said, looking up quickly.  "He's one of them?"

          Ironhorse nodded.

          "I don't believe that.  He called for help.  He—"

          "Shh."

          Together they worked their way back around to the Jeep, Ironhorse reaching in to pull the knob to free the hood.  A quick check revealed the problem and the colonel reattached the rotor on the Jeep's distributor while Killian continued to scan the lot for the last of the attackers.

          "All right, Mr. Killian, I suggest we get the hell out of here."

          "Colonel," Jack said, pointing.

          Ironhorse looked across the hood in the direction Killian was gazing.  Kevin Peters stood between two cars, swaying dangerously.  "Get in the Jeep," the colonel snapped.

          Jack stepped back, but refused to climb into the passenger seat as Ironhorse came around to join him.

          "Stay here, Killian," Ironhorse commanded.  "I don't need another distraction."

          "Right."

          "Kevin?  Kevin Peters?" the colonel called, stepping away from the open vehicle.

          The blond head snapped up.  "No!" the young man screamed out.  Against his will Kevin Peters began to raise the revolver.  "Run!" he screamed.  "I can't stop him.  Tell Harrison it's the cold!  Dr. Kievchek—"

          "Worthless human!"

          Ironhorse stood his ground, although his Beretta was ready.  "Kevin, what happened to Harrison?" he demanded, hoping the boy would be able to help despite the struggle he was engaged in.

          "I shot him!" Kevin cried miserably.

          Ironhorse felt his stomach knot.  That was all he was going to get, and it was probably all the boy knew.  "Put the gun down, Kevin, let me help you."

          "Too late, I can't control—"  A burst of alien-speak finished the sentence, then in a deeper, resonating voice the creature spat, "You are Ironhorse!"

          The colonel's weapon came up instantly.  "Put the weapon _down!_ "

          The young man's face contorted, and his body shuttered.  "Colonel, help me! Shoot!"

          The soldier watched as the psychic and the alien battled for control of the body.  The weapon in the young man's hand rose, getting closer to a position where Ironhorse's life would be in danger.  He had to decide.

          "You cannot win, human!" the commander yelled.  "This pathetic specimen was an exception.  We are stronger.  We will live life immortal!"

          "Help me!"

          Ironhorse ground his teeth together, and squeezed.

          "Colonel!"

          Ironhorse turned to face Killian, but the man had forgotten what he was going to say as he watched Kevin Peters melt into a bucketful of bubbling green ooze.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday September 27: 0100**

 

          Ironhorse resisted the urge to pace behind the small producer.  Billy Po had already told him that if he started up again he was out of the booth for the duration, and the colonel believed him.  Still, the waiting was aggravating.  He and the Omega Squad had spent the remainder of Thursday searching unsuccessfully for Blackwood.  The situation was rapidly becoming critical.  With the slightest bit of luck Harrison would call again tonight and they would locate him.

          Ironhorse tuned out the conversation Jack was having with three practitioners of the magical arts – although the Oglala shaman intrigued him – and focused on the incoming calls.

          Jack nodded at the older woman who practiced Voodoo and smiled.  These individuals were far from the crackpots he'd expected, but he was still having a hard time concentrating.  Ironhorse kept interrupting his thoughts as he paced behind Billy, or stood, staring at the computer screen over the smaller man's shoulder like he could make the missing Blackwood call by sheer force of will.  Earlier, Killian had driven the colonel to a local hospital where they treated his injury, and gave him a prescription for an antibiotic and pain-killers.  The DJ wondered if Ironhorse had filled either.

          "Okay, we're going to go to a commercial break.  And, Harry, if you're listening, I really want to talk to you, so give me a call."  He nodded to Billy.

          "I hope this works," Ironhorse said under his breath.

          "KJCM, who's on the line?" Billy asked in his ever-friendly voice.  "Harry?"

          Ironhorse stepped forward, getting the location.  _Thank God he's still in the city_ , he thought as he whispered, "I need an address."

          "Harry, where are you?"

          "I can't tell you.  I'm sorry, but there are people looking for me.  Terrible people.  I have to talk to Jack.  I have to warn him."

          "Hold on, I'll put you through."  Jack was already watching him, having seen the colonel's response, no doubt.  Po pointed to the phone set and transferred the man to the private line.

          "Harry?" Jack questioned hopefully.

          "Yeah, it's me.  At least I think it is."

          Killian sighed heavily.  "Are you all right?"

          "I'm fine, if you can call having no memory and being hunted fine."

          Jack chuckled softly.  The man had an odd sense of humor he found comfortable.  "Look, I want to help you.  Can I come get you?"

          "It's too dangerous."

          "Listen to me, Harry, I have a guy here who knows you.  He's been really worried.  I think he can help you, if you'll just meet us somewhere.  You asked me to trust you the other night, Harry, and I did.  Now I'm asking you to trust me."  Killian listened to the pause on the other end of the line as the man decided.

          "Who's the man?" Blackwood asked suspiciously.

          "A friend of yours, Paul Ironhorse," Killian replied, foregoing the man's military title.

          "I— I don't remember."

          "Look, why don't the two of us meet you somewhere?" Jack suggested casually.

          There was another pause.  "Okay, but I'll call back at the end of the show and give you the location.  And, Jack?"

          "Yeah?" Killian asked, holding up crossed fingers.

          "Just the two of you, no one else, understand?"

          "You got it, Harry."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday September 27: 0345**

 

          Ironhorse drove for the location Harrison had given Killian.  The astrophysicist had picked a good spot, a church in the middle of a residential area.  Anyone who didn't belong in the area would attract not only Blackwood's attention, but the attention of the neighborhood watch-conscious community as well.  Maybe he was having some effect on the scientist after all.

          "You didn't have to come," the soldier said to Killian, silently wishing he hadn't.  He liked the man well enough, but if he had to talk candidly in front of Blackwood to try and jog his memory…

          _No, deal with it as it happens_ , he told himself.

          "I know, but I want to see this played out to the end.  Besides, you owe me one hell of an explanation," Killian said half-angrily.  He wasn't at all sure how he was feeling, but there was no way he was walking out of the situation now.  Not without a few answers.

          "I'm afraid that's a matter of national security, Mr. Killian.  Need to know," Ironhorse said, but it wasn't as convincing as it could have been.

          Killian felt the anger fall away.  "I could've guessed.  But I'm the guy who ended up right in the middle of it, and I'd like to know what it was.  You owe me, pal," he concluded in a more friendly tone.

          Ironhorse considered the request.  He didn't think telling Killian about the aliens wise, although he trusted the man.  The fewer who knew what he and the others were doing, the better – fewer security leak risks.  Still, he did owe the man some sort of explanation.  He had saved Ironhorse's life at the University and he had gone out of his way to help locate Harrison because he cared about the man.

          "I'll see what I can clear with my superiors, Mr. Killian."

          "Just tell me one thing, Colonel," Jack said.

          Ironhorse turned his head just enough to invite the question with a raised eyebrow.

          Jack swallowed and looked directly at the soldier.  "Are there aliens from another planet here?"

          Ironhorse waited a moment, then replied, "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Mr. Killian."

          "That's what I thought."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse fingered the Geiger-counter in his coat pocket and silently prayed to whatever spirits might be listening to keep the machine in the green when he found the astrophysicist.  Together, Killian and the colonel exited the Jeep and crossed the street to the Orinda Antiochian Orthodox church, St. Michael's.  Both men were surprised to find the front doors unlocked.

          They stepped inside, Ironhorse closing the door behind them.  The aroma of incense filled the structure and the thick beige carpet silenced their footsteps.  After making a quick sweep of the lobby and the reception hall, the two men returned to the door to the chapel.  Reaching out, Ironhorse waited for the faint buzz that would warn him of a trap, but none came.  Relying on that feeling as he had in combat, he gripped the brass knob, turned, and let the door fall silently open.

          They stepped into the church, and Ironhorse felt his heartbeat accelerate at the sight of a curly-headed man seated in one of the pews.  The man pivoted when Killian cleared his throat.

          Harrison.

          Blackwood stood and walked back to join them, his gait slightly unsteady.  The colonel watched the needle of the Geiger-counter, but it remained steadfastly fixed.  He allowed the breath he'd been holding to escape as a sigh.

          "Harry?" Jack asked.

          The man nodded, but his gaze fixed on Ironhorse's.  "I'm Jack Killian, and this is—"

          "Colonel?" Blackwood questioned very softly, like he was repeating a faint echo.

          Ironhorse nodded.

          "Paul?"

          "Harrison, do you remember?"

          Blackwood's face wrinkled, then he grimaced, his hands rising slowly until he could press his fingertips against his temples in an attempt to slow the flood of images and memories that began flooding over him.  He groaned slightly, and the colonel stepped up, guiding the taller man to the nearest pew and lowering him onto it with a tug on the man's arm.

          Blackwood remained silent, lost in the wash of his own returning memories.  Finally, after what felt like hours to the two waiting men, Harrison looked up at Ironhorse and nodded.  "I do remember, Colonel, but I wish to God I didn't."  Taking a deep breath, Blackwood stood and nodded at Killian.  "I'm sorry you had to end up in the middle of this."

          "It's a habit I've tried to break," Jack said with a wry smile.  "But I have to admit, when I started a week on the paranormal I never expected to end up running into, uh, aliens."

          Harrison shot Ironhorse a surprised, confused look.

          "Don't look at me, Doctor, the man has a sharp mind," Ironhorse grumbled.

          Killian laughed softly.

          "I see," Blackwood said.  "Well, when I can get past the confusion this headache's making, I'd like a chance to explain a little bit about what happened."

          "I would appreciate it, Har—" Killian started.

          "Call me Harrison, please.  It's Harrison Blackwood."

          "Harrison.  I have a couple of questions I think the Colonel would file under 'need to know,'" the DJ said with a smile.

          Blackwood grinned.  "Everything's need to know with the Colonel."

          Ironhorse gave his friend a nasty glare, but the twinkle behind the expression robbed it of any sting.  "People, I think it's time we finally got back to our lives."

          "Good idea, Colonel.  I've been missing one for a couple of days.  Would you like to fill me in?  How's Kevin?  Were you able to–?"  The instant withdrawn look on both Ironhorse's and Killian's faces caught Blackwood unexpected.  "I see," he said sadly.

          "I'll give you a complete debriefing when we get home."

          Killian looked nervously away.  That talk might be a little more interesting than the astrophysicist had anticipated.

          They headed back to the car, Ironhorse safely turning the conversation when he asked, "And what in the world possessed you to use a church as a safe house, Doctor?"

          "I guess you could say I was moved by the spirit, Colonel."

          The remark earned him a dark glare and a groan.  Harrison was going to be fine.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Sunday September 30: 2030**

 

          Harrison sipped his coffee and waited for Ironhorse to speak.  He had slept for nearly twenty-four hours, passed a physical by an Army physician at Ft. Streeter, and had already taken the time to re-center himself with a couple of hours of meditation.  After that he felt ready to pin the Colonel down for an explanation.

          Mrs. Pennyworth had filled him with vegetable soup, Norton had tested his latest new blend of coffee on him, and Debi had presented him with a hand-made get well card.  Suzanne even fixed up a concoction she promised would help his headache, and it had, although Blackwood suspected the large portion of alcohol in the remedy was what helped.  Still, he was grateful to be rid of the dull throbbing ache.  The physician warned him there would be residual headaches for several days, but aspirin would begin to help more tomorrow.

          Unlike the others, Ironhorse had avoided Blackwood, hiding behind the excuse of paperwork – an excuse that seemed to be his favorite when he wanted to avoid talking to one of them.  But now, nearly two days after he had been found, Harrison Blackwood wanted some answers, and by God he would have them.

          He watched the smaller man as he arranged another log on the fire, then took a seat on the cream-colored carpet in front of the hearth.

          "Colonel?"

          Ironhorse looked up.  "I'm sorry, Doctor.  You have every right to be mad as hell at me."

          "About what?"

          "I couldn't help Kevin," Ironhorse said softly.  "I wanted to, but the damned situation…"

          Blackwood leaned back in the wing-backed chair and closed his eyes.  "He's dead?"

          "Yes."  It was a whisper.

          A long sigh escaped Blackwood.  "I knew that, somewhere inside.  I knew he was lost when I heard him on Killian's show, but I wanted to try.  We could've learned so much from him."

          "He was fighting, even at the end, but the alien was able to gain control," Ironhorse explained, the pain in his voice catching Harrison slightly off guard.  "I didn't have a choice.  I _had_ to kill him."

          Blackwood nodded.  He could see the pain in the other man's black eyes.  It was a look similar to the one Ironhorse had after he had accidentally shot Sara Cole.  There had been no way to know at the time that Sara was an innocent college student who had been taken hostage by two aliens as a diversion for their comrade to escape.  But Kevin was different.

          "Paul, don't blame yourself," Blackwood said, leaning forward in his chair.  "Once Kevin had been absorbed, he was lost.  Even if he'd been able to fight the alien off in his mind, when the thing left his body for another one, or had to leave due to the radiation destroying the human body, Kevin would have died."

          Ironhorse stood and paced in front of the fireplace.  "But he was _human_ , Harrison."

          "I know.  Even when I saw that third arm come out of his chest, it was hard for me to leave him.  In his eyes I could see the human soul, too."  Harrison shivered.  It was an image that would haunt him for a long time to come.

          The colonel stopped, and leaned one hand against the mantel.  Staring into the fire, he sighed.  "It made me think a lot about what happens to all the people they blend with. All those souls, trapped inside their own minds, forced to watch whatever horrors the aliens inflict on other people.  People they might know and love."

          "I _can't_ think about that," Harrison whispered.

          "I wish I couldn't."

          "But he was dying, Paul."  The black eyebrows drew down.  "The radiation would've killed him.  He was damned.  I just hoped— If we could've just talked to him, found out how he'd been able to maintain control…"  Blackwood trailed off.  "He was so frightened."

          "I know."  The colonel swung to face the scientist.  He stared at Blackwood for a moment before he spoke.  "I think he was trying to tell us something, Harrison, but I don't know what."

          A soft chuckle rolled around the room.  "And who's psychic now, Colonel?"

          Ironhorse looked away.  "Not psychic, Doctor.  He was saying things that made no sense.  At first I thought he was just ranting, but everything else he said was perfectly clear.  It meant something to him, but I don't know what."

          "Do you remember what it was he said?"

          "Something about the cold."

          Blackwood nodded. "I remember," he agreed, a hopeful enthusiasm filling his voice. "My God, Paul, that's it!  If we can figure out what he was trying to tell us, we might just get a handle on how to defeat these things!"  He curbed the excitement, and said more seriously, "I'm sure Kevin understands you did what you had to, Paul."

          "He asked me to kill him."

          "He was a very brave young man."

          The colonel nodded.  "I had Norton start checking into Kevin's background, and the backgrounds of the other two students who were taken over.  JFK has a tremendous amount of information on them, and there were more records in the databanks at institutions that specialize in the paranormal, plus a few need-to-know high security government computers."

          "And?" Harrison asked, the hopeful tone returned.

          "The students all had similar profiles.  And there are others with almost identical profiles."

          "I see where you're going, Colonel.  We talk to the others with the same profiles and maybe we can find out how Kevin was able to resist the blending."

          Ironhorse nodded.

          "Very good, Colonel.  I must be wearing off on you – finally."

          The colonel chuckled.  "Funny thing, Doctor, I was thinking that I was wearing off on you not too very long ago."

          Blackwood flashed the man a smile and wagged his eyebrows. "What about Killian?"

          "I received an okay from General Wilson.  You can meet with him and answer his questions in whatever manner you think appropriate."

          Harrison stood.  "I think I'll go leave a message for Mr. Killian at the station then.  I'm looking forward to talking to him."

          "Good luck," Ironhorse said.  "He's like a bulldog."

          The astrophysicist smiled over his shoulder.  "I'm used to those, Colonel.  I live with one."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday October 2: 1000**

 

          Jack shuffled into Devon's office, a cup of coffee clutched in his hands.  The station owner looked up from the advertising report she was studying to level a questioning expression on the DJ, but he proceeded to the padded chair across from hers and dropped into it.

          "Somebody die?" she asked him, then laughed nervously when he glanced up, thinking a moment before shaking his head.  "What's up?"

          Jack straightened and gave her a half-hearted smile.  "Oh, nothing."

          "Oh, really," Devon said, closing the report.  "Jack, are you okay?"

          Draining the mug, he sat it on her desk, earning himself a frown.  "Just digesting my talk with Harrison Blackwood."

          "Who?"

          "Harry."

          "Ah," Devon said.  "Is he okay now?"

          "I think so," Jack said standing.  He smiled, trying to forget the turn his life had taken.  Aliens.  Aliens trying to take over the planet.  Aliens that could take over human bodies…  He shivered.  Too weird.  Taking a deep breath, he let it out, stretched, and gave Devon a playful grin.  "He's one serious nutcase."

          "Someone you should get along with then," she teased.

          He shook his head.  "I'm out of here."

          "Oh, before you go.  I received a call earlier from the mayor of Santa Fe.  She was wondering about the Nighthawk doing a series on the New Age southwest."

          "No!" Jack said, his hands coming up in a defensive position.  " _Please_ , no more weird stuff!"

          Devon looked hurt.  "Well, Jack, the ratings—"

          "Never mind the ratings.  Think about my sanity."

          She smiled, one eyebrow rising.  "There's some left?"

          He made a face.  "Very funny."


End file.
